Rubbish? Rubbish!
by Mysteriouslyabsent
Summary: It's here. The fic I have wanted to write for years. I can't promise that it'll be any good, but I hope it gets a couple of laughs... If you've read the books, you'll know what this is about, so away we go!
1. Beginnings

**Rubbish? Rubbish!**

_A/N: Because I've been meaning to write this for forever. I don't own any of the Mortal Engines-ness, this is just my homage._

… … …

_**Prologue:**_

Hello, bonjour, and guten Tag, dear reader, and welcome to this, the fifth in my phenomenally successful (not to boast, but the sales figures speak for themselves!) series on Ancient Civilisation! Prepare for thrills, spills and chills galore, daring battles with the (previously-presumed extinct!) Dalek tribe of the North and a tale that will keep you on the edge of your seat, however well-cushioned that seat may be! And, what's more, I promise you that every single word you read in this book is the purest, unadulterated truth. Listen not to those untalented so-called 'Historians', Valentine, Pomeroy and the rest! They are afraid to accept, afraid to _believe_, for the very foundations of their careers are built on a history _which is false_.

In this book, I endeavour to prove that Ancient history has been sadly misrepresented, by offering proof and _real findings _that contest popular belief! Prepare to be shocked as I present…

_Professor Nimrod Beauregard Pennyroyal's_

_RUBBISH? RUBBISH!_

…

_Dedication:_

_To my darling Shop On-Line,_

_Your name will never be forgotten,_

_For I have immortalised you in print_

_And to my publishers,_

_Fewmet and Spraint-_

_I told you I'd finish the manuscript eventually!_

…

Chapter 1

A Beginning

It is often difficult to know where to begin a tale of such great proportions. Does one start at the end, and draw the reader in through a devious mix of cryptic hints and downright lies? Does one start somewhere in the middle, and add things in as they come to mind, hoping that everything mashes together into some sort of readable form? Or does one do the logical thing, and start at the beginning?

I think the beginning sounds best.

So! Let us begin!

I suppose this tale began two years ago, when I was sitting on a deckchair on Cloud 9 in my hometown, the beautiful raft resort of Brighton, enjoying the success of my previous book, _Lost Cities of the Sands_. Goodness, what a long sentence. Anyway! Although I was pleased that the book was selling well (along with my previous historical works, _The Underwater Empire Strikes Back _and _Rise and Fall of Microsoftian Civilisation_) I could not help but think that perhaps it was time to call off my adventuring days. "Foolishness, Pennyroyal!" you might say. "You were but thirty-three! How could you think to even consider such a thing?"

And, of course, you would be right. But when a man has seen such adventure, why, he attains a perfectly natural fear for the stuff! After braving my brush with death at the hands of a technologically enhanced Wally Mammoth (a seven metre tall red and white-striped jumper- you can read the further details in my tale _There's Wally!_), I was not too eager to plunge myself back into the dangers of exploring. I was contemplating putting my gung-ho life behind me forevermore, and maybe retiring with my long-time companion Minty Bapsnack to do… whatever I felt like doing.

All that changed, however, when a sinister looking fellow in a red scarf and trenchcoat approached my deckchair.

Even from five metres away, I knew that this man would be trouble. It was the middle of the day, but he seemed to have an icy aura that preceded him, freezing all in its path. His eyes, on the other hand, glowed like hot coals behind his sunglasses. A long, thin sword hung at his side. I was just beginning to rise, planning to run as fast as my young legs could carry me, when he spoke in a frightful rasp…

"Are you Pennyroyal?" he asked. His voice sent shivers down my spine, and he clicked his neck not one, not two but _three _times as he spoke. "Well?"

I nodded. I dared not reply. To think that such a villain could be aboard my hometown!

"… Excellent…" he hissed. "I've been looking for you."

I gulped.

"Pennyroyal… I don't suppose… Pennyroyal, would you like to know a secret? The other historians don't want me to publish it, and I haven't the writing ability, but you, my friend… you could do a fine job." He clicked his neck again. "Well? Are you interested?"

I would have liked to know any secret that helped me to get rid of the man. I nodded again.

"And, if I told you this secret, would you tell it to the world, if I asked you to?" He fixed me with his terrifying gaze. I suddenly realised with horror that his boots had knives for heels.

"Quite certainly!" I gasped. He nodded, seemingly pleased.

"… Very well." His scarf moved, and I wondered if he was smiling. "In that case… allow me to take a seat." He pulled out a deckchair next to mine. I was half-miserable at this development, but half… _curious_. The mysterious stranger sighed, settled down into his seat, pulled his wide-brimmed hat forward on his head and began his fascinating tale…


	2. The Stranger's Tale

_A/N: I'm having too much fun with this… xD_

… … …

Chapter 2

The Stranger's Tale

"It began in the summer of '75- you, Pennyroyal, would have been just a lad," the stranger rasped. "I happened to be standing behind a large pillar when I overheard a heated argument between an apprentice and a historian. I won't bore you with the exact details, but the gist was that the apprentice thought the historian was making a big mistake. I decided to find out what was going on. Well. My curiosity had got me in trouble before, and this was no exception.

"No sooner had the historian left, than I stepped out from behind the pillar and accosted the apprentice. At first he was reluctant to tell me anything, but I wormed the story out of him in the end.

"It turned out that the pair had recently stumbled across an Old-Tech site, and had found- such marvels! Evidence that everything we had presumed about Ancient Civilisation was wrong! I could go into detail, Pennyroyal, but I think you should see for yourself. Anyway… The apprentice wanted to tell the world about the site, but the historian had forbidden it. And why? Why, you ask? I'll tell you why!

"It's a conspiracy, young Pennyroyal! There are forces in this world that do not wish for honest men like you and I and your readers to know the truth! They want to sell their own version of history, no matter _how _inaccurate it may be! Why, they laugh every time they lie! They wish to make money _by duping the public_!

"I see you shaking your head, Pennyroyal, but it's the truth. At first I was loath to believe it myself, but doubt niggled away at me until I had to check. The apprentice had given me a map- I will give it to you presently- and I resolved to follow it. The journey was a treacherous one- that, you shall see for yourself- but by the end, I was certain- they've fooled us all.

"But Pennyroyal, we can make this right! Take my map, take my hat, see the sights I saw and write your book! Sell your book! Spread your book around the world! The truth will out!

"What say you, Pennyroyal? Will you join me in my quest? Will you help me to right the wrongs of the ages? Are you with me?"

Half-terrified, half-awed, I found myself nodding. The man might have been a frightening chap, but I could tell he was honest.

"Of course!" I replied. His scarf twitched; he was smiling. My terror vanished, to be replaced with anticipation at the thought of adventure. "You can rely on Nimrod B. Pennyroyal!"

The cloaked stranger clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Excellent, my- great Deeble!" He started to scramble out of his deckchair, staring at something over my shoulder. I turned, and lo! A gang of men with gas pistols and glares were heading straight for us!

"Take the map, Pennyroyal!" The cloaked stranger thrust it into my hands and started running. "Take it and tell the world the truth!" he called over his shoulder. I stuffed the map into my trouser pocket, just as the men with pistols let off their first shots at the stranger. They seemed not to notice me. I tried desperately to think of something I could do to save the man, but, finding nothing, I went for the only possible course of action- running straight at the gang and trying to fight them off single-handedly!

My heart was in my mouth, but I had no choice! Let an innocent man die? Never! I realised (with some surprise) that I had picked up my deckchair in my haste, and now I flung it at the first gang-member. With a cry, he fell, and the effect was similar to that of knocking over a domino- he crashed into one of his fellows, who crashed into another, who crashed… well, you get the idea! In no time flat the men with pistols were lying in a heap on the floor, and the cloaked stranger had escaped. I knew, however, that the gang would be back on their feet soon, so, without further ado, I left the scene!

But little was I expecting the sight that greeted me when I arrived back at my hotel room…


	3. The Villainous Vixen!

_A/N: Hello Mr. Long-Overdue Update! (Sorry, everyone; I've been both busy and unmotivated)._

… … …

Chapter 3

The Villainous Vixen!

The place was a shambles. My floor was blanketed by a thick covering of papers; my precious research notes had apparently been hit by a hurricane. A fetching pink hotel vase lay smashed in the far corner of the room (I dreaded to think how many extra dolphins my lodging would cost because of it), and various other bits and bobs had been strewn around all over the place. I couldn't believe it! Who would do such a thing, and _why_? As far as I was aware, I had no enemies, so who could possibly want to-

My train of thought crashed to a halt as something very hard crashed into the back of my head.

…

When I awoke, I was startled to discover two things.

Firstly, my wrists and ankles were bound with a thick length of rope, and this, in turn, was bound to a chair. I attempted to move my right arm and screamed aloud; where my skin pressed against the rope, tongues of flame shot across it! The pain, my dear reader, was indescribable. As I panted, desperately trying to ignore my agony, I heard a voice.

"Foolish boy," it murmured. It had an exotic accent, and appeared to be female, although I couldn't be sure; the speaker was standing at my back. A sturdier man might have braved the inevitable pain, and twisted his head in his seat, but I was still a delicate young thing, and wished not to be burned by the peculiar rope.

"Don't turn around," the speaker said (a tad unnecessarily). "Tell me where you 'ave put it, or I shoot."

Something cold and hard pressed against the base of my skull. I gulped.

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about, my dear!" I gasped. That, apparently, was not a satisfactory answer; the woman jabbed the gun against my head again.

"Don't play games, boy. Tell me where you 'ave put ze map to ze Magikarp, or you will 'ave a pretty little 'ole in your pretty little face."

My eyes widened. Could this map she was referring to possibly be the map the cloaked stranger had placed in my hands? If so, how in Poskitt's name had she found out so quickly? And what on Earth could this 'Magikarp' be? So many questions skittered around in my brain, but now was most definitely not the time to think about them!

I had a choice. I could inform the mysterious woman that the map she was searching for was in my trouser pocket, allow her to take it, and then return to my old life. I could pretend that I had never met the cloaked stranger; I could ignore the things that he had spoken of, and this frightful sequence of events would no doubt finish as quickly as it had begun. The prospect was a tempting one, I had to admit. But how could I face myself for the rest of my life? Every time I looked in the mirror, I would see a coward, a failed historian who turned tail and fled at the first whiffs of danger! I was young, yes, foolish, yes, but I, Nimrod B. Pennyroyal, was no coward!

My mind was made up! I would die before I revealed the map's location!

…

… The problem was that that was a very real possibility.

If I died, the woman would search my corpse. And what then? She would take the map, of course! I would find it rather difficult to follow the map or thwart her devious plans if I were dead. But what could I do? I had to think of some way of escaping, obviously, but my mind was determined not to help me in this endeavour. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't think of _anything_.

Oh, dear reader, imagine the fear coursing through young Pennyroyal's veins at that moment! Imagine the terror! I could betray myself and lose all meaning in my life, or I could die a pointless death! Even to this day, when I remember that moment, I find myself shivering uncontrollably.

And yet! As you have surely noticed, I am still alive! How did I manage it, you ask? Well now, my friend, I think that calls for its own chapter, don't you? Onwards and upwards!


	4. Decisions

_A/N: Apologies for the delay; I've been focusing on my original fiction._

… … …

Chapter 4

Decisions

"You 'ave until ze end of ze count of three," the mysterious woman hissed in my ear. "And zen I fire."

I gulped.

"One…"

Desperately, my eyes flicked from side to side, as I racked my brain for some solution to my grave predicament. A cavernous, depressing nothing sprang to mind. My heart raced.

"Two…"

I felt a bead of sweat trickle down my brow. This was it. The end of poor Pennyroyal. My exciting adventures had finally come to their horrific conclusion. I squeezed my eyes shut tight.

"Thr-"

_Crash!_

My eyes sprang open again- they were immediately confronted with the sight of at least twenty men, all in black, leaping through my (now shattered) hotel room window. As I took in this rather surprising sight, I felt the gun's barrel part company with my head, as the murderous woman took a step back.

"Dualshock!" she exclaimed. This foreign oath confirmed my theory that she was not local, although now was not the time to be pondering the origins of strange, homicidally inclined women- the men in black clothes appeared to be just as homicidally inclined (several were waving knives about), and they were headed straight for us!

I could only sit there, petrified, bound to the chair, as the woman fled. The peculiar intruders gave chase, and I realised (with some relief, I must confess), that she was their target, not I. I could hear the sounds of a furious scuffle coming from the hotel corridor. As the last man vacated my room, and the crashes and yells increased in intensity, I suddenly realised I was faced with a terrible moral dilemma.

Twenty men, armed to the teeth, fighting one woman? A woman with a rather unpleasant gun, in fairness, but all the same… One didn't have to be a tactical genius to predict the result. My conscience gave the most horrible twinge as the fight in the corridor escalated.

"But Pennyroyal!" I hear you cry! "There was nothing you could have done! You were bound to a chair with ropes of flame; you had no way of leaving your room, let alone fighting off twenty well-armed strangers!"

Ah, but you see, dear reader, a man's conscience is not a rational thing. All that occupied my mind, at that moment, was that a woman was in desperate trouble, and I, the supposedly _brave _Nimrod B. Pennyroyal was doing nothing to help. In retrospect, I can see just how foolish my younger self was, but at the time, my friend, I felt utterly _consumed_ by guilt.

"But she was going to kill you!"

Indeed she was, but did that mean that I should toss aside my basic human decency? A lesser person, perhaps, but not I! I am not a man easily stirred to anger, but the sheer _cowardice _of these monsters made my blood pound in my veins- twenty of them fighting a single foe; a foe with fewer weapons, a frailer physique, a nice accent- I was _furious_!

No, dear reader, my mind was made up. Somehow, _somehow_, I had to help the woman, despite her… unsavoury… behaviour earlier. It was my duty as a man of strength and honour. We historians have always prided ourselves on these qualities, and I could not bear to besmirch the name of my forebears and contemporaries (even if they sometimes act a little foolishly and claim that my credentials as a historian are questionable. One would think that being trussed up in flaming rope would be proof enough of my dedication to the cause… but I digress. They know not what they do, silly devils.).

I was going to have to rescue her. Even if it got me killed.

… But how?


	5. A Certain Little Something

Chapter 5

A Certain Little Something

This called for some quick thinking!

My arms and legs were still tightly bound to the chair, but, to my delight, I found that (with some difficulty), I could move by_ hopping_. Not the most dignified mode of travel, I must confess, but now was not the time to be picky. That solved the problem of reaching the poor damsel in distress, but what about the tricky business of actually _rescuing_ her?

…

I admit, dear reader, I had a moment of doubt. The odds seemed so highly stacked against your poor young Pennyroyal that he even considered closing his eyes and sleeping for a little while. I am not proud of this moment, but I feel it is important to give as true an account as I can, rather than airbrush myself into some sort of perfect hero. What has a man, if not honesty? It is something that can never be taken by force, and is thus a priceless quality. I always say that a trustworthy man is worth his weight in gold- but I digress! No doubt, you are anxious to know _what happened next_. Therefore, let us swiftly get to the point!

My eyes roved around the room, searching for some way to free myself. This search was in vain, but I _did _spy a little something that looked like it might just prove itself useful.

This little something was tucked down the side of my writing desk; it had most probably fallen when my poor hotel room had been ransacked earlier. As I hopped over, still tied to the chair (this process was slow and painstaking, not to mention noisy), I realised this was going to cause me a fair bit of trouble!

Nonetheless, I knew that I must persevere. After what felt like hours (although it must have only been a minute at most, or the poor, disagreeable woman would have been dead by this point), I managed to succeed in dragging the object out of the gap between my desk and the wall, using just my front teeth.

I now held a sharp paper knife in my mouth.

Cautiously, I bent my head and pressed the knife to the bonds around my left upper arm. A furious tongue of flame whipped up; I jerked my head back again just in time. Somehow, I managed to resist the urge to gasp in pain. This was lucky; had I done so, my knife would have fallen to the floor, and it's doubtful that I could have picked it up again had I had _all evening_ to spare.

Well, I was still tied up, but this was definitely better than before! Young Pennyroyal was now armed and dangerous!

Now it was time for me to teach those cowards a lesson. I shall not bore you with the details of my hopping back across the room on my chair; needless to say, once more, it was slow, painstaking and noisy. And my arm hurt. Eventually, however, I reached my door, and I knew it was time to rejoin the fray and do my best to rescue the mysterious woman. From the sounds of things, the fight was only increasing in intensity, complete with shouts, screams, crashes, bangs, and the explosive tinkle of shattering glass. It looked like I could add 'disrespect for intricate light fittings' to the list of these villains' vices.

I took a deep breath and summoned my courage. Beyond my door was the point of no return. Once I left my room, my life would be in grave danger, and I knew these moments might well be my last. I tried to think of some fitting last words, but found none- a cruel irony for a writer, I'm sure you'll agree! My morale took quite a beating from that alone, let me tell you. Nevertheless, the time for dilly-dallying and brave words was over- it was time to face my foes!

So-thinking, I flung open my door and flung myself into the corridor…


End file.
